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September 2013

broken horses are still wild
only worn and wounded by time
no amount of harm can diminish their passion
their spirit will remain even if hooves and hearts and memories are lost
being trapped in stone is not the same as being tamed
it simply makes them stronger
changing form cannot change nature
even broken horses run
so fast and swift that the pain
disappears in the wind

Erinland is going on temporary hiatus. Not that it will be terribly noticeable, since I have pre-scheduled flax-golden tales & will possibly be posting photos from hiatusland, but I thought I’d announce it anyway.

I am hugely busy this week and then I shall be away on proper vacation next week. I might be Instagraming or Tumblring occasionally and I shall try to keep up with Twitter but I won’t have much internet, so I will be mostly unplugged.

Yesterday was Adam’s birthday and I wanted to do something appropriately autumnal so we drove a bit up the Hudson and went apple picking.

We picked apples and got an early pumpkin and also the farm had bunnies and chickens. We also took a lot of photos, including Adam levitating and me in the first denim jacket I’ve owned since I was approximately thirteen years old.

Afterwards we came back to the city and ate All The Sushi at Sushi Yasuda. (We sat at the bar and said we liked salmon when asked our preferences and our sushi chef said “I have nine kinds of salmon!” so it was splendid before we even started eating and then the eating part was divine.) By the end of the day we were sunshine-tired and sushi-full and very happy birthdayed.

The leaves are in that stage where they are thinking about changing but not properly flame-colored yet, only a little bit around the edges, but the crispness in the air and the quality of the light are showing their autumnal cards, just before the equinox.

This is an ode to the ones who do the leaving.
The ones who dare to break ties and hearts
because they know they are not princes in disguise,
are not one true loves,
are not cursed.
Those who cannot be anything but what they are
no matter how they try.
The ones who know that they are swans
even if they pretend to be princes for a time
out of politeness,
out of fear,
or to meet expectations.
Because it felt easier,
or safer,
to be something they are not.
The ones who told themselves lies
and sometimes even believed them.
The ones who have come to learn that staying is the cowardly act
and that running away can be brave.
The ones who find their voices,
find their feathers,
find their wings
and leave the familiar in favor of the unknown.
The ones who realize
they can be something true
somewhere else.
And to seek it
they must leave
the place where they were.

The Night Circus was published 2 years ago this week. It seems like it was just yesterday and so very long ago, both together at the same time. Something about this picture is perfect for how I feel about it lately, moving toward something else but still surrounded by stripes and feathers and magic.

Most patrons assume the name doesn’t actually mean anything, but establishments are not permitted use of the word “Lucky” unless they have approval from the Board of Fortuity.

The Board of Fortuity prefers to keep such things regulated, though the regulations are hardly public knowledge. Often the assessments are performed without the proprietor’s knowledge, but they are always assessed if they dare to use the L-word.

(Venues that do not pass assessment meet with unfortunate ends and are often deemed “unlucky” in headlines reporting their passings with predictable lack of creativity.)

To ensure approval, something provided by the Lucky-monikered establishment must provide legitimate luck. The assessments are quite thorough and only a few pass with colors resembling flying, most barely qualify and many of those will fail future reassessments.

Lucky Cat is the most popular though the only item on the menu that contains a significant amount of luck is the Jungle Bird, rarely ordered and even more rarely imbibed properly.

Once, someone ordered every lucky pastry at The Lucky Fig and managed to cheat death three times on his way home afterward, though he didn’t notice.

The luckiest of Lucky establishments is a Board of Fortuity secret but some suspect it belongs to a jeweler who unknowingly crafts her wares from extremely fortuitous metals, as her supplier has kept this information to himself.

No one will confirm or deny this, but it has not escaped notice that every member of the Board of Fortuity wears at least one piece of Lucky Stars jewelry.

Returned from the road tripping and now I’m catching up on life, though the catching will likely take awhile.

Had a lovely time at a lovely wedding of a friend of Adam’s (they had a tower of donuts instead of a cake!) and got a lot of reading done and had a lot of delicious food and my first pumpkin spice latte of the season.

Also I had a cotton candy ice cream cone that was very pretty, look:

(It was not as cotton candy-tasting as it could have been, but it was very good. I have had more strongly flavored cotton candy ice cream, but this one was prettier.)

Back in NYC, reveling in the almost-autumn feeling even though I can’t believe it’s September already, getting into full-time work mode and looking forward to my first fall in the city. I’ve never seen the leaves change here, and I am fond of change and leaves.